


Through the bars

by Mo6918



Series: What you find on the road [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, The One Ring is Bad News, Thorin's hands are good news, but overall fluffy I hope, signs of addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mo6918/pseuds/Mo6918
Summary: Thorin and his company are stuck in the elven prison. Bilbo is still managing to stay hidden, trying to figure out a way of escape and the continued use of The One Ring is taking its toll. Luckily, Thorin Oakenshield is a distraction even if it's through the bars of a prison door.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: What you find on the road [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637008
Comments: 9
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little darker than usual I suppose, but please bear with me. Fluff will always win in the end with these two.

“How?” Bilbo flinched, snapping back to reality and looking at Thorin in mild confusion. Picking up on his inability to follow, Thorin repeated with a furrowed brow: “It’s been two weeks. How have you still gone unnoticed?”

“Two and a half, actually”, Bilbo corrected with a wry smile. “And they did notice food going missing. That’s why I had to stop taking much.” He could see the gruff warrior’s face dissolve into something like pity, maybe worry, but Bilbo didn’t want to read too much into it. “Luckily”, he continued with a more cheerful air, “Bombur’s stomach has been rumbling so loud through the palace, it’ll cover up mine any time.”

“Good. Then we’ll make it grumble even more”, Thorin said, his jaw set with dark determination. “Go to every cell and tell them to set aside more of the food the elves bring us and hand it to you.”

“Thorin, that’s…”

“Tell them to make sure there are five proper meals gathered for you every day.”

“No, really, that won’t be nece…”

“It is the order of their king and the leader of the company you pledged your service to. You will do as I say.”

Bilbo went quiet, his teeth grinding and his fingers clutching hard at the ring in his pocket. It was a cool lure against the hot anger of the dwarf. He knew the king’s fury wasn’t entirely against him, but he knew the dwarrow was getting restless and frustrated with their situation.

They had been stuck in the woodland palace for close to three weeks and despite the fact, that Bilbo was seeing a way out by now, there was no clear end in sight. The dwarrow prisoners, not knowing anything about their situation beyond the walls of their prison cells, were getting grumpier and grumpier every day. Everyone knew by now, that Bilbo was here, trying to find a way out, but most of them evidently thought he wasn’t doing a good job, seeing how they were still stuck.

Thorin had his back, most of the time, Balin hissing at his brother in the cell next to him, that such an escape needed to be done with brains, not brute force, and that he supported Bilbo’s way of doing it, but even he was getting restless and frustrated with their dwindling time until Durin’s day, and the insufficient meals they were being served.

The elves weren’t exactly starving their prisoners, but they had a different sense of what enough food was and what good food was. Maybe they even thought, losing a little weight would do the dwarves good…

At least they were being fed on the regular. Bilbo on the other hand was living his burglar life, more often than not stealing off of people’s plates rather than from the kitchen, because the people in charge of the supplies were keeping a jealous watch over each loaf of bread, each head of lettuce. Bilbo suspected that they were keeping such close tabs on the food supplies not so much because they suspected a sneak around, but because some sort of festivity was drawing closer. If he could find out the exact day…

“Do I have your word?” Thorin’s voice was softer again now and he looked at Bilbo with almost a pleading eye. “That you’ll go to every cell and collect more food from us?”

Bilbo averted his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, yeah…”, he muttered. He wasn’t even that hungry, recently. When he woke from his uneasy rests in some corner where he hoped nobody would run into him, fall over him and find him despite the ring, food wasn’t usually the first thing he thought of. The first thing was making sure the ring was still there… making absolutely sure it was safely on him.

Surely, this was just a sentiment born out of fear of being discovered.

A harsh sound yanked him from his thoughts again and he flinched hard this time. Thorin wasn’t wearing any of his rings or armor, yet his hand meeting the wall of his prison sounded like a cannonball.

Bilbo whipped around, looking for guards to come checking on the prisoners, but nobody came around the steps leading to the prisons. The elven guards had become used to their unwilling guests’ habit of occasionally smashing against the walls and prison doors.

Especially Dwalin was famous for it, loosing his temper most frequently.

“We should do it tomorrow”, Thorin hissed. “There’s no point in waiting. You must have seen every corner of this place by now. You must know the way out.”

“Yes”, Bilbo said, “And I know we’ll not make it out. We’ll get caught and Thranduil’s fuse is short enough to decide to behead us all, if he finds your imprisonment is too much of an annoyance to him. You’re lucky he put you in a cell and not a grave in the first place.”

Thorin scoffed. He clearly knew, that Bilbo was right, but being the stubborn, stone-headed dwarrow that he was, he refused to accept defeat.

“You should just find our weapons and bring them to us so we can fight our way out.”

“You had your weapons when you were caught and that didn’t help”, Bilbo retorted, watching with some satisfaction, that he had hit a nerve there. Thorin huffed and turned around and away from the door, in front of which Bilbo stood to update the leader of the company about his wanderings through the palace. “I can hardly carry Gloin’s axe, I doubt I could even lift Dwalin’s Warhammer off the ground. How would I carry all of your weapons here, without anyone noticing, anyway?”

He tried to speak more calmly now, more softly. He wanted Thorin to turn around again, to look at him and give him something else to focus on than the constant lure of disappearing. Of putting on that thin band of gold.

“This is getting us nowhere”, Thorin said, his voice low and filled with anger again, that always bubbled beneath the surface these days. “I can see you’re hardly sleeping, or eating.” He turned and this time, Bilbo was almost sure he saw a clear flicker of genuine worry in the dwarrow’s face.

“At this rate, you won’t be much use to our escape if we don’t act soon.”

Bilbo huffed a laugh. It was a painful little chuckle. There it was again. The Thorin who cared about nothing but his quest. His lost treasure. Sometimes it felt like for every moment they had come closer, there were two in which Thorin would throw all his disdain at him, even after he had proven himself once and for all in the fight against the orcs, after the goblin caves.

Maybe this was how it would always be. Maybe he would forever be small and unworthy in the eyes of a king. Maybe he should _disappear_.

_Disappear into the shadows. What use is it to stay in the light when all it offers is danger and the resentment of a man forever out of reach_ …

“Bilbo. _Bilbo!_ ” The hobbit blinked rapidly and pulled his hand out of his pocket, as if it had suddenly been filled with fire ants. For a second, he had not been sure, he wasn’t putting it on right here, in plain sight of Thorin. He could not risk that…

“Sit down.”

“Huh?” Bilbo watched in confusion, as Thorin settled down on the ground, getting as close to the elven door as possible.

“Settle down, master burglar. You are tired and exhausted. You will rest, while I make sure no guard spots you here.” He pushed his hands through the bars, beckoning Bilbo toward him. His arms hardly fit through. Bilbo looked from the inviting palms to Thorin’s face and then, before he could even think about how much safer it surely was to put the ring on and hide in a dark corner, his legs almost gave way and he sank onto the floor, his head dropping low and with a terribly exhausted little sigh he let it fall into Thorin’s hand.

How he wished he could have gotten a real embrace…

But with the thick arms barely fitting though the bars halfway up to the elbow, even after Thorin had pushed his sleeves up, there was nothing to be done about it.

Thorin’s second hand changed the gap it was reaching through and came to settle in Bilbo’s hair, stroking through the curls softly, while his other hand held the Hobbit’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, Thorin”, Bilbo muttered, feeling his eyes stinging under the soft caresses. “I’m doing my best…”

“I know”, the king whispered gently thumbing over the pointed tip of Bilbo’s ear. “I trust you.”

A hush had fallen over the cells. The high walls, that usually echoed some sort of banter between two or more cell neighbours, had gotten quiet, as if everyone was listening into the conversation of burglar and king. Bilbo was glad that it was Balin who had the cell next to Thorin and not someone more prone to… gossip. Still he didn’t dare open his mouth to let out all those things that weighed on his chest. How tired he was. How scared. How much he missed Thorin, his warmth and comfort. How lonely and lost and doomed he sometimes felt, wandering the palace unseen.

His shaking hands reached through the bars, fitting easily all the way and his hands clung to the fabric covering the dwarf’s shirt, fingering it in a hopeless try to absorb some of the warmth that radiated from the king. A moment later, the hand left his head and caught his hands. Thorin’s long fingers reached easily around Bilbo’s, holding both his hands warmly and safely in his one.

“Try to sleep”, the dwarf rumbled and after Bilbo had nodded, his head still bowed, cheek nuzzled into Thorin’s palm, he felt the familiar scratching of beard against his forehead, followed by the surprisingly soft touch of lips, that lingered there.

It wasn’t the most comfortable position to sleep in; hunched over, bars digging into his knees, arms stuck between bars… but his eyes fluttered shut, somewhere between dismay about the king’s lips leaving his forehead and the feeling of them finding his fingers and palms and he fell asleep with no ring on his finger for the first time in nearly three weeks, warmth bubbling in his chest once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds a benefit in sneaking around the elven palace with a bunch of dwarves locked up neatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your kind comments and kudos! I'm very happy some fluffy tales of these two give some people joy, especially in the current times.   
> Stay safe everyone and think fluffy thoughts. 
> 
> This chapter was meant as a light counterpart for the first one. Sorry it took so long.   
> ~

The first order Thorin had given for their prison life had been to not let the fact that they were without weapons and without freedom ruin their body and mind. And so, Balin was providing little riddles and telling stories that contained something to be learned from – something most of the company didn’t appreciate very much – and Dwalin was providing instructions for training within the confines of the cells.

Up until now, Bilbo hadn’t been able to attend many of these little lessons, because they had been both a danger and a chance to explore. Some elves seemed unwillingly drawn to listen to Balin, when he broke into story or riddle, but they clearly didn’t feel comfortable doing it, so they found things to do, suddenly spinning silk in the middle of the winding prison instead of in front of a warm hearth, or conveniently losing a button that needed to be sewn back on, on the spot.

It was quite amusing, how the stories of an old, wise man drew the elves out despite the bad blood. Clearly, the son of the elven king wasn’t very pleased with the Sylvan elves’ interest in the dwarves, but there wasn’t much he could do but scowl at them and ever since the captain of the guard had decided to spend more time than necessary in the prison complex, his means of keeping other elves out were even more limited.

For Bilbo, this meant it was more dangerous than usual, to stay near the cells, but it also meant that less elves were in other parts of the palace, allowing him to sneak around and gather more information.

The same applied to the training session, albeit with different dynamics. In the beginning, the guards had been mildly worried about the ruckus the dwarves had made and had stuck around to watch over them. Soon enough though, others had come, trying to study the movements of the mountain folk, hoping to learn something.

After a while though, the interest had died down. It had become clear that nobody was breaking out of these cells, even if the dwarves managed to shake the very ground of the cell blocks, and a certain Prince had proclaimed loudly, that anyone who thought he could learn how to fight from watching a dwarf train without a weapon would be immediately relieved of all rank and duty and could go cleaning kale in the kitchens.

That seemed to have helped, because one day, when Dwalin announced it was time to train, Bilbo found that there was not a single elf on their way to watch and so he stayed where he was, sitting in front of Bofur’s cell, who had provided him with a handful of nuts and seeds. Bofur’s cell was located a little way up the stairs, allowing a nice view on the other cells below. Bilbo was forever grateful though, that Thorin’s cell was just out of sight.

“Is that really necessary already, Master Dwalin?”, Kili was heard whining.

“If ye don’ want me t’split yer head in two once we’re outta here”, it came rumbling from Dwalin’s cell. Bilbo observed for a while, nibbling on his nuts as slowly as the hunger allowed him to and watched in awe how the dwarves began to move in their cells. It was beyond him, how even Balin and Oin, at their age, were able to inspire a sense of foreboding, as they hacked at thin air. Sure, their movements weren’t as powerful and brutal looking as Dwalin’s but…

_Crash_.

Bilbo jumped as Dwalin knocked his head into the door of his cell, the sound echoing through the vast halls.

“That”, Bilbo said, looking around fearfully, expecting guards to show up, “Did not look healthy.”

“Aye. T’wouldn’t be if ye did it yerself”, Bofur said with a wink, but didn’t go on to smash his head into something himself either, although Bilbo suspected it was more to avoid frightening him. He got up and put the rest of the nuts into his pocket, deciding to move over to Kili’s cell, even if it hadn’t as good a view, but the younger prince looked like he too would prefer to sit down and talk, rather than fight air in his cell. As soon as Bilbo was in front of his door, Kili huffed a sigh and stopped moving.

“Don’t tell Dwalin. He’ll remember I slacked off even if we’re stuck in here for 50 years, and kick my ass for it once we’re out….” He grinned sheepishly.

“You’ve been trained by him before, haven’t you?”, Bilbo asked, even after all this time not having heard all about the connections these very different dwarves shared.

“Me and Fili, yeah. Part of being a prince, even if it’s in the peaceful Ered Luin. He’s a great warrior and a good teacher, he is.”

Bilbo smiled at the apparent respect the young dwarf, who usually was full of mischief, showed.

“But…”, as if he had noticed that his image as a royal menace was in danger, Kili’s eyes lit up with a familiar fire, “shouldn’t you be watching someone else, Master Boggins?”

“Someone… someone else? I don’t know what you mean. I’m not even here to watch I’m just…”

“Passing by? On your way to…” he nodded his head, “Thorin’s cell?”

Bilbo managed to hold the eye contact and did his best to give of the air of someone who had nothing to hide, as he replied. “As the official burglar and only way out, informing our leader about my progress is mandatory.”

Kili kept watching him, narrowing his eyes for a moment, before shrugging.

“Well, you might want to hurry up then. You’re missing the best part…”

“The best part of what?”, Bilbo asked, irritated with how Kili was now studying his fingers, as if entirely uninterested in the conversation by now.

“Oh, you know…” He shrugged again. “…Master Dwalin is a great warrior and all, but our uncle… well he _is_ the king. I just figured… even someone from a peace-loving folk like yourself would appreciate a true _master_ at work…” Bilbo scrunched up his nose. He was about to say that he wasn’t really interested in watching people fight thin air to begin with, that he had better things to do, when Kili added in an off-hand voice. “And then there’s the fact that he likes to work-out topless.”

Bilbo felt his mouth go a little dry and his cheeks a little hot. Why on earth would this pest of a dwarven prince mention this to him.

“Huh”, he huffed, bouncing on his toes a little and fingering the ring in his pocket nervously. Kili looked at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. He seemed to wait for something, but Bilbo just said “Huh”, again.

“I imagine he has even more reason to do it here”, Kili added coaxingly, “In order to not get his clothes sweaty, you know.”

Bilbo rolled his lips over one another, wiggled his nose and decided: Nope.

He wasn’t gonna give Kili the satisfaction.

“Well, I better be off”, he said.

“To uncle?”, the prince asked eagerly.

“I think not”, Bilbo said, waving a hand. “I still have some observations to make regarding the time and date of our escape.”

“But…”

“See you around.” And he turned and marched off back up the stairs.

“That’s the wrong direction”, Kili called after him in a last effort, but Bilbo made sure to stay in sight as long as he could, walking all the way up the prison stairs, until he finally turned a corner… and stopped. Pressed against the wall he waited, listening as much for elven guards as for any sound from the dwarves. He thought he could make out a “Very subtle, Kili”, probably Fili speaking.

Feeling a rush of excitement, he pulled out the golden ring, that was safely hidden in his pocket and slipped it onto his finger, marveling for a moment at the snug fit. As if it was made for him, and _just for him_ , fitting so perfectly, comfortably.

For a moment he stood there, swaying a little, blood rushing in his ears and for that moment he could not breathe. The air seemed to have gotten thick and heavy, too solid to breathe, but then reassurance spread through him, crawling up from his ring finger over his wrist, tickling in the pit of his elbow and finally freeing his lungs.

With an almighty sigh, Bilbo let out the breath he had not noticed he’d been holding. It felt like a warm bath after a long morning of shoveling snow off the path to his door on a winter day. At first the warmth hurt, but after a moment, it was the best thing you could ever have imagined…

“They just need a little push, that’s all.”

Faintly, he heard the voices of the two princes, bickering from one cell to the next, but he hardly picked up on the content.

“And what makes you the expert, all of a sudden?”

“I’m not saying I’m an expert. But I mean I _did_ charm an elven lady.”

“You’re fraternizing with the enemy that locked us up, Kili. Not the resumé that’ll get you the job as head advisor to our uncle’s love life, if you ask me.”

“Got a better idea, then?”

“Better than telling Bilbo to go goggle at a half-naked, sweaty dwarrow who’s been stuck in a cell for two weeks? Huh – yeah!”

_Half-naked, sweaty dwarf._

“Right”, Bilbo muttered, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind a little. Everything still looked a little fuzzy on the edges, but his step was light, when he hopped back down the stairs, the same way he so demonstratively had left a minute earlier.

His leathery, padded soles left barely a sound, but he didn’t have to sneak much anyway, as Dwalin was currently scolding the boys loudly for slacking off, having heard their indistinct bickering all the way to his cell.

The yelling encouraged Bilbo to do a little sprint, just because he could and maybe because the sooner he got where intended to go, the sooner he’d get that little bit of eye candy, that he definitely needed and deserved.

He came to a halt in front of Thorin’s cell, squared his shoulders and straightened his jacked before turning toward the iron door. He swallowed and fought back the urge to clear his throat, that felt on the verge of releasing some sort of strangled, high pitched sound.

Whatever plot the younger prince had been spinning, he hadn’t lied about Thorin taking off his shirt for the training.

Bilbo stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to look at the situation with a calm mind. He was an invisible hobbit who had just sprinted down a flight of stairs to watch an accomplished warrior hone his skills. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to feel like the elven dungeon was suddenly a little over heated.

The halfling rocked forward and backward on the balls of his furry feet, pursing his lips and wiggling his nose, as he tried to find the focus to watch Thorin’s movements, rather than the way his long, silver streaked hair fell over his broad chest…

Bilbo sighed softly and to his horror, Thorin stopped in his movement and looked around, light blue eyes scanning the small part of the world outside his cell that he could see through the door. His bushy eyebrows were doing the grumpiest frown as he seemed to decide he had imagined a sound and he returned to his exercises.

His lips forming an adoring smile, Bilbo took a few steps back and found a ledge in the rocks, that was wide enough for him to sit on.

Thorin was _gorgeous_.

What he lacked in brute force he made up for with an elegance and swiftness, that was rather unexpected from a broad and heavy looking being like a dwarf. And suddenly, Bilbo found himself imagining that dwarf dancing. Dancing along with a whole crowd of people, hobbits, over the lush green grass of the shire, celebrating the start of the strawberry harvest. Or the start of the summer. Or the middle of the summer. Or the first fresh brandy of the year. Or a birthday of some irrelevant relative or their relation. Whatever merits a good feast, drinking and possibly some dancing.

He could see him wearing some of the flowers that grew in Bagend’s front yard, woven into his braids that bobbed merrily as he danced. He could see him snatch a hump of ale from the table in mid-dance, laughing as he spilled some.

He could see Lobelia Sackville-Baggins staring in wild exasperation, as the dwarrow stopped to invite him, Bilbo, to the dance, whirling him around with a wide smile…

And Bilbo sighed deeply once more. He was a goner. He had lost all touch with reality. Thorin, son of Thrain was going to be king under mountain in the best turn of events. He was going to rule a bunch of stubborn gold lovers half a world away from the shire, in the lonely mountain, where there was neither room nor comfort for a Hobbit.

And if that wasn’t to be, they’d rot and die in here, in the worst turn of events.

Well, maybe not the worst. Staying here to watch Thorin and his bare chest and his strong arms and his defined abs in his little cell until they both grew old and wilted wasn’t exactly the worst thing. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment in him, if he failed to get the company out of Thranduil’s dungeon.

Thorin stopped again, and this time it wasn’t because of a sigh he’d thought he heard. He rubbed his neck and winced as he moved his head around.

A bead of sweat trickled over his collarbone and dipped into the dark cover of hair, that spread over the king’s torso, narrowing down to a thin black line that disappeared behind his belt.

Bilbo stood with a start and pulled on the ring on his finger. It seemed to have gotten tighter, clinging to his skin. Thorin had closed his eyes and massaged his shoulder a little, groaning slightly. Bilbo twisted the thin ring and pulled it off roughly. Cold air hit him, but the feeling of vulnerability that usually followed his return to visibility didn’t set in this time.

“Stiff neck?”, he asked conversationally, as he trotted closer, slipping the ring into his pocket, where it could mix with nuts and crumbs for all he cared. Right now, there was more important things, he needed to get his hands on…

“Master burglar”, Thorin greeted and his face twitched, as he fought to keep his composure for a moment, before giving up and allowing his lips to break into a smile.

“Slept in an awkward position, maybe?”, Bilbo continued as he closed in and suddenly, he felt all the joy in the world about eyeing Thorin openly. He noticed how the dwarrow pushed his hair back, trying to bring order to it and how he straightened up, squaring his shoulders as he stepped closer to the door, like he was trying to look his best, appear _kingly_ , even in his condition.

“Maybe”, Thorin nodded, “But not one I wouldn’t pick again.”

Bilbo blinked, his eyes suddenly stinging, but he grinned stupidly up at the taller one, wondering why on earth he had been hiding in the shadows to watch Thorin in secret, when he could have spent all these precious minutes looking him straight in the eyes and feeling warm and fuzzy and strangely important, because all frustration and bottled up anger had momentarily vanished from the king’s face, just from seeing him.

“I could give you a massage”, Bilbo offered, indicating with a gesture toward the bars, that he could fit his hands through easily.

“We should not both be sitting with our backs toward the guards”, Thorin reminded him and Bilbo felt rather like someone had just denied him his second birthday cake that he rightfully deserved.

“Right. You’re right. What was I thinking”, he babbled, trying and failing not to show his disappointment.

“Same as me, I would suppose”, Thorin said with a smirk and ran a hand through his hair again, muscles playing invitingly under the skin of his chest and arm. “But as much as we both want your hands on me…”

“I- _what_?!”, Bilbo blurted out, heat rising into his cheeks faster than he’d have liked. He would have liked to throw a little denial-tantrum, but Thorin laid a finger on his lips, still smirking.

“Don’t shush me”, the hobbit hissed and folded his arms tightly across his chest, fuming. “I was merely trying to help.” And get his hands on that sweaty treasure of a body, fine. No need to say that out loud, right?

Thorin chuckled and lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. “All right, all right. Calm yourself, Master Burglar, or you’ll soon be stuck in your own cell with much less opportunity to sneak up on people…”

Cheeks still burning, Bilbo huffed and rolled his eyes. “So, are you going to keep training now, or what?”

A few minutes later found Bilbo perched on the stone ledge again, munching on nuts as he watched Thorin continuing his exercises. Little did the king know, that Bilbo could tell by the difference to his movements before, that the handsome dwarrow was _showing off_ more than he was training.

Well, he would certainly not complain. Not when he could watch back muscles playing under glistening skin instead.


End file.
